A little girl darkened the door of the old cathedral at dawn. That is to say, her shadow was cast across its towering doors as the morning beams of orange and warmed pink creeped up over the horizon and onto the stone sidewalk behind her.
Ding-dong
The resonant sound of the bells inside the echoing walls of the God-aimed monstrosity made her jump slightly as she pulled the ringer rope.
A man in a grey robe opened the the door with an overdrawn creak.
"Welcome, little one; we've been expecting you."
She gazed up at him, eyes widely soaking in his wrinkled, over-sized countenance.
"Expecting me?" she inquired as she cocked her head at a jaunty, inquisitive angle, "I just came here to wonder if anyone would like to buy a flower." She gestured with her bent arm upon which dangled a wicker basket filled with cut chrysanthemums.
The clergyman chuckled to himself. "Yes! If flowers were prayers then you could call this place an arboretum! Then again, perhaps flowers are prayers..." his thoughts seemed to trail off as he squinted at the morning light that now bathed him. Seemingly regaining his state of mind he motioned her in with a wave. "Anyhow, come on inside, young one. "
The girl gave a tug to the bottom of her tightly buttoned yellow cardigan (quite matter-of-factly) and trotted lightly yet intentionally inside.
"If prayers were flowers," she began, dinner plate eyes scanning the cavernous enclosure, moving up one wall, across the domed ceiling and down the stained glass on the other side, "then I would make a much more notable profit with my business."
"Oh, yes?" he inquired.
"You see, my expenses to produce would be nothing, and I would never run out-- in and out of season!"
Again, he laughed to himself, though this time more loudly and lively. "I am happy to have found that sprouted youth who kneel before the Holy One are still being cultivated in this day and age."
"You should be," she stated emphatically. "My mother says that our people are going to hell in a hand basket. That's why I've decided to carry flowers in mine."
With a grin the man of the church plucked a dark red mum from said basket and brought it to his nose. "With some baskets of flowers and prayers, perhaps there is hope after all," he spoke dreamily, as he exhaled the fragrance of the mum with enjoyment.
...
5 comments:
LOVE LOVE LOVE IT!!! What a fun and powerful story!
Keep writing, daughter!
I love this! I really enjoy vignettes like this. I hope that this is a sign of more to come.
Are the chrysanthemums a Steinbeck reference?
Yes! Will we see this is The Circadian?
I love the well-spoken little girl in the yellow cardigan.
"..." at the end means i am motivating my self to continue whatever this is, as it isn't much of a story at this time.
can't say i didn't think mums and steinbeck at the same time.
if this becomes a finished work it will hopefully go in the circadian (if it makes the editor's cut).
in my mind the girl is british and the brits talk smarter even at a young age.
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